Reign of Souls
by Bazylia de Grean
Summary: "I will remember," Woedica promises. "I never forget," she adds, and the flash in her eyes is like a reflection of a flame on a blade. Thaos knows that her words are both a promise and a threat. But he is not afraid, because he understands. Like her, he is ready to sacrifice much – and many – so that order will always triumph over chaos. (Adra Bán series. Beware, here be SPOILERS!)


Ten gods, ten, since they have banished the Queen. That is how most of the tales of Eora gods begin. Thaos knows the tales have it wrong.

They were eight of them, eight, like eight seasons, eight lands and eight towers. Eight, each one a paragon for others in a domain of their choosing. An artist, skilled with voice, harp, brush and ink. A fierce warrior with flaming eyes. A sailor, always looking up into the stars. A great hunter, his aim always true. A weapon and armour smith, surpassing all others. A soulmaster, stern, but patient. A Guardian of the Passage, ruthless and unrelenting. A scholar, both a jester and a sage.

And the last one, last, but the most important, raising above them all – a queen and a judge. They needed a sovereign in their mortal lives, and that was why one would rule them in their next incarnation. Woedica the Just. Not Woedica the Merciful, but to put an end to chaos and bring order, one needs justice, not mercy.

There was also a man serving the queen, the one most loyal and devoted. The one who was a part of it all from the very beginning, and a part of it he would remain until the end. That was his destiny and the will of the queen.

. . .

The servant is the first to undergo the changes – the calculations are certain and free of errors, and experienced soulmasters, lead by Berath, the greatest of them, oversee the process – but the Soul Spindle in a prototype, never before tested on a living being. Beings.

It turns out that the experiment is painful, for that servant and for the others, those who give their souls so that one ordinary soul could be turned into something more, something much more powerful. To turn a mortal into a god. A trial of fire, Magran says, her eyes flashing, and Galawain, standing next to her, gives a predatory smile.

That is how the ninth comes to be. The soul they created – a being forged by hours of agony – is the essence of hatred. That is not a god they wanted to make, so they try to kill him, but he is too powerful now; and he, unable to use his new powers yet, cannot kill them either. In the end, he runs away and, terrified by his new form and might, hides somewhere far and deep. No one knows his name, so they call him Skaen – which means servant in their language.

That is when, before next experiments begin, the eleventh comes. He volunteers, offers himself as a sacrifice of his own free will, and many others come with him, each of them ready to give their souls. That is what he came to do, too, because he wants neither might nor power, and all he wished was to spare others from suffering. His hair is fair, his face tanned. He is a gardener, Thaos thinks, standing beside his queen, near soulmaster Berath, when he recognises him.

Hylea, always looking for beauty, smiles at the sight of the young man's golden hair and bright eyes. But it is Ondra who speaks first, breaking the silence which fell after the man spoke.

"We aimed for virtues, ideals and order," she says softly, her voice melodious like the hum of the sea. "And yet we made an error and let hate out into the world." For a moment big blue eyes in her dark face gleam with tears. "So now the world will need love."

Berath turns to the queen. Woedica is silent, her stern face inscrutable. Then the queen nods, giving her consent.

"It will be just," she declares.

This time the process is less painful, because souls given willingly do not suffer as much. That is how the eleventh is born – Eothas, the gardener, the one who feeds, luminous and merciful. The one who wanted neither might nor power, but was given both.

"How will you use them?" the queen asks, her imperious voice demanding an answer. "What will you do with your gift?"

"Fields of corn ripening in sunlight," Eothas replies cheerfully.

Wael, the sage who always speaks in riddles, smiles at hearing those words. Hylea, enchanted by the image mentioned, is also smiling.

Rymrgand, standing away from all the others, only nods to himself, pensive. Thaos knows why. Life is part of the cycle. As is death.

"Eothas was not supposed to join us," the queen says later from the heights of her cold stone throne. "You will watch him," she commands. "Always."

Thaos bows his head. He does not ask why, because he understands – sometimes mercy stands in the way of justice.

"What about the Servant?"

Woedica raises her head proudly, the white adra in her crown gleaming.

"He will be despised by all those he hates, he will never find an ally. Everyone will turn against him.

Thaos keeps silent, but the queen can hear his thoughts. He feels her eyes on him, her stare bright and cold like a mountain stream, like the southern winds.

"Justice can be cruel," Woedica says. "But it is rarely merciful."

. . .

The queen will undergo the changes just before soulmaster Berath, who will be the last. But first, she meets with her most loyal servant once more.

Thaos is kneeling on the cold floor as the queen speaks to him from her throne. When they are alone, he does not have to kneel, it is enough to bow, but he wants to show how much he respects his lady.

Later, when Woedica will be a goddess, everyone will kneel before her, in hope or in fear. Thaos wanted to be the last to kneel before her while she is still mortal, to show his devotion.

Woedica knows, even without such declarations. She knows his mind and soul. And his heart. And she rules them all.

"Thaos ix Arkannon," the queen says, her voice resonant like a bell. "Rise."

Thaos stands up, his head still bowed, not out of fear, but out of respect for the queen. He is not afraid of her, like some others, but understands and admires her – her composure, cold steadfastness, her judgements. He admires her will all his heart.

"Look up," Woedica commands.

Thaos raises his head and looks at her. The queen is standing right before him, at the feet of the wide stone steps, harsh and beautiful like unpolished adra. She is calm – she always is – but her calm is the quiet before the storm.

A corner of Woedica's lips raises in a smile, imperious and slightly mocking. She knows him well, knows his soul and mind, and she must have learned that years ago.

"Come," she says as she reaches out to take his hand.

For one night, the first and the last time, the queen bestows her favour upon him. Thaos know that she only wants to bind him to her even more, but he also knows she does not have to resort to such tricks. He will remain her faithful, loyal servant, because he understands better than most what will happen, and that happen it must. But his lady, even though not merciful, can be kind to those who serve her well.

So Thaos worships his queen and pays her due tribute. Woedica is silent, but there is a shadows of a smile playing at her lips – light, imperious, mocking. Or perhaps it is just a shadow. After all, Woedica's heart is not like Hylea's, full of joy and song, nor sensitive like Ondra's, nor compassionate and warm like the heart of Eothas; neither is it burning like Magran's, always quick both to anger and passion alike, or violent like Galawain's. No, the queen's heart is cold and hard like her justice, and Thaos admires her for that, too.

"When I die and return to the cycle, I will forget," he says matter-of-factly, though with hesitation, when the first rays of sunlight fall into the chamber through stained-adra windows. "How will I be able to serve you and our cause?"

"I will remember," Woedica promises, her smile confident and cold. "I never forget," she adds, and the flash in her eyes is like a reflection of a flame on a blade.

Thaos knows that her words are both a promise and a threat. But he is not afraid. He does not have to fear the queen's warning, because he will forever remain loyal – because he understands. Like her, he is ready to sacrifice much – and many – so that order will always triumph over chaos.

. . .

After the changes they can assume any form they want, so Thaos is not surprised that Woedica visits him in her human form – which looks so inhuman that even he, who has never feared, feels a shiver down his spine. But perhaps it is elation, not fear?

She looks like a woman dressed in simple robes and with an iron crown upon her head, but is a hundred times more regal than she was as a mortal. There is an aura of immense power emanating from her – the power of many souls, sacrificed willingly, the power that can change the world and create gods. Her face is ageless, and thousands of lives are burning in her eyes. She is menacing, harsh and beautiful, like justice.

Thaos bows and then kneels before her.

"Thaos ix Arkannon," the Queen says, and her voice is like the sound of bells, steel, depths of ages, "rise."

Thaos stands up, his head still bowed. He does not have to look at her to see her, for he will carry her image burnt under his eyelids until the end of his days, in this life and all the next.

Woedica raises her hand and moves it, a wide gesture, as if she was trying to point at the whole world at once.

"Go," the Queen commands.

Thaos goes into the world, to carry out the will of the Queen and to fulfil his destiny.


End file.
